


Passageways Through the Emerald See

by donutsweeper



Series: Pathways and Passageways [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:36:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  John was supposed to find the world as boring as the rest of his ilk. But they didn't know Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passageways Through the Emerald See

John Watson knew that every culture has stories, myths, legends that existed to explain what its people cannot. What was it that goes bump in the night? Why did bad things befall good people? What happened in the shadows and why were we afraid of them?

He knew because he was one of the creatures of those dark places who had slipped into the light to experience the mundane world for a while. Or, that had been his intention at least. Instead he had found his way to Sherlock and Sherlock was anything but mundane.

For a human, anyway.

Sherlock would never be able to see the way lixenlats collected near the area where a innerself moved from the Here to the There or hear the cry of the quappa when their domain had been breached by the unhappy dead, but he saw more than most.

"Obviously murdered, John. Only a fool like Anderson would see _this_ and conclude it was an accidental death."

"How can you tell?" John asked, fascinated, because even with his Sight if he had not had the wail of the quappa providing their all important clue he would not have noticed the violent severing of thread of life, its end a near perfect mimic of an innocent misstep.

Sherlock made his dismissive, 'everyone is an idiot' noise, before beginning the explanation, the specifics of which John didn't bother listening to. The abject certainty was present in his words for anyone to See, and that was what mattered, that was why John stayed.

He shouldn't, of course. Beings of his ilk rarely interwove their outershells, hidden or not, with humanity for more than a moon's length or two at a time. In theory it was too dangerous, but for most the reason was simpler; it was _boring_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, life with Sherlock could never be considered boring. Together they explored places like the emerald passageways where John surreptitiously chatted with the kipperkaps and lixenlats while Sherlock perused the moss lined floor for clues. For a small bribe of Stardust he could learn what they could See or what they had witnessed and then he'd slip dribbles and drabs of the information into his comments to Sherlock by asking pointed questions or pushing their investigation in one direction rather than another.

Sherlock, as self assured and self centred as he was, would never notice when information didn't originate specifically from within his own deductions, not when it was John feeding him the necessary breadcrumbs to lead him in the right direction. In time, John got so good at it that he didn't even use his Skills to hide what he was doing. Or, perhaps, it was more that Sherlock came to rely on him and the help he could provide. Either way, it was a strange feeling- being needed. Helping a human. A mundane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every day John met the sun and told himself _this_ was the day. This was the day he'd finally take his leave of Sherlock Holmes. And every day he just never quite managed to pull himself away. There were midnight chases to be had and criminals to be caught. How could he leave when he was having this much fun?  



End file.
